


The Lost Stories of District Twelve

by snowlandsontop (foreverinourfavor)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverinourfavor/pseuds/snowlandsontop
Summary: These are the tragic untold stories of love that was found within the walls of District Twelve -- lost in the war, the bombings, and in the Games.  There are four stories to be told.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne/Madge Undersee, Haymitch Abernathy/Maysilee Donner, Mr. Everdeen/Mrs. Everdeen (Hunger Games), Primrose Everdeen/Rory Hawthorne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	The Lost Stories of District Twelve

The Lost Stories of District Twelve

The First Star-Crossed Lovers of District Twelve  
The story of Haymitch Abernathy and Maysilee Donner

Haymitch Abernathy tried to remember her in the Town Square, at the Hob, sitting on the bench at the Slag Heap, but he couldn’t conjure up more than just fuzzy edges of a picture. Whether it be the fault of lost time or the fault of his binge drinking she managed to slip away from him. In an attempt to reconstruct her face in his memory, he imagined certain pieces of her individually -- her blonde hair that she twisted up into a bun because she hated when it swung in her face, the pink blouse she wore on the day of the Reaping, how her eyes squinted mischievously whenever she was caught in a lie. Some nights her face manifested in his dreams without him even trying to conjure a single memory of her, but whenever Haymitch felt he needed her -- the presence of Maysilee Donner was always too far for him to reach.

Haymitch and Maysilee briefly came together months before the Reaping. They had found each other during a party at the Slag Heap. Haymitch had noticed the deep blue of her eyes and Maysilee had always admired the sharpness of his jawline. They never had spoken before that moment -- they never had a reason too, but that night something in the clear, white liquor set them ablaze.  
“Do you have a partner?” Maysilee asked with a slight smile and Haymitch, who had just lifted his cup to his lips, choked on the liquid as it passed his throat.  
“Excuse me?” He coughed in response, wiping the alcohol from dribbling down his chin.  
“Do you have a partner?” She asked once more and then nodded towards the table with the empty bottles lined up. A pair of boys from the Seam had set up a game of “Rings” and were looking for competitors to play against. He glanced at the boys and then back at her -- unsure of what she wanted from him.  
“You” Haymitch began slowly, beginning to piece together what she had in mind, “want to play rings? With me?”  
“Yes?” she questioned with a slight tilt of her head. “Unless you don’t know how to play -- then no.” Maysilee paused to sip her own drink feeling the warm liquid spike some of her courage and she met his silver eyes with a daring squint, “I’m looking to win and I need someone who's as good as me.”  
“That’s big talk for a Townie” he teased before leading her over to the free side of the table. He nodded in greeting to the boys and picked-up a handful of the rings. “Don’t let me down, Dollface,” he told her before tossing the first ring and watching it circle around the neck of their opponent's bottle, “I have a reputation to uphold.”  
Four straight wins later, Haymith and Maysilee celebrated their success with a shot and finally growing bored with the game he led her over to an empty bench at the edge of the make-shift dance floor. They talked about nothing important -- her job at her parent’s candy shop, his little brother’s obsession with collecting rocks, their similar hatred for the upcoming report in school. They talked all night -- never once considering that they would be thrown together months later in the arena. As the night slowed to an end, Haymitch leaned over and pressed a warm kiss to her lips. 

The Reaping played out the same way it had every year before. There might have been twelve extra tributes due to the Quarter Quell, but the odds still felt the same. Haymitch felt Maysilee’s presence as soon as he took his place next to her on stage. It was electric and he suddenly remembered how rosy her cheeks were that night at the Slag Heap. Glancing towards her now, his arm twitched to reach out and touch her soft hand that dangled at her side. On screen she was even more interesting to look at. Tall and angular, her blonde hair a mess on the top of her head. The blouse she had chosen to wear to the Reaping reminded him of the bubblegum her parents sold at their shop. Maysilee had shared a few pieces with him only a few days before when he walked her home from the Hob. She had laughed until tears sprung into her eyes when he told her that he spent the rest of the afternoon combing the chewed mess out of his younger brother’s hair.  
When they boarded the train that day -- she ignored him and she ignored him for the few days that followed. He understood why, but that didn’t make the reality easier for either of them. During the long days of training, Haymitch showed off his strength and practiced with as many weapons as he could get his hands on. He had a family that he needed to return to, a younger brother that counted on him. Haymitch thought about him with every toss of a knife and made silent promises to try -- really try to come home. During these moments of desperation, Haymitch would always catch himself looking for Maysilee and when their eyes would meet he would remember her own family waiting for her back in Twelve -- her twin sister, her parents, even the silly yellow songbird that sat in her bedroom -- and he felt a deep sadness knowing that one of them or neither of them would be returning home.  
“Haymitch,” she whispered the night before they entered the arena. She stood in the doorway to her room, leaning against the frame with a sad smile.  
“Dollface,” he whispered in return, pausing in front of her to study the shape of her lips. “What’s the problem?” he asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.  
“I just --” she began, but the words seemed to be lost. Lifting her hands and gently placing her palm against his cheek. She ran her soft skin over the rough stubble that was beginning to grow on his face. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek deeper into her palm with a sigh.  
“Haymitch,” she whispered again, but he kept his eyes closed holding onto the moment for just a second more. “In the arena -- there’s no hard feelings,” she continued in a broken whisper, “Only one of us gets to go home and I’m going to fight for it.”  
Haymitch slowly stood as tall as possible and looked down at her with his own sad smile, “I know, me too.”  
That night, before he drifted into a light sleep, he pictured what District Twelve would look like reaping the benefits from a win. For a moment he didn’t care who won -- him or Maysilee or one of the other two District Twelve tributes -- he just thought of his brother’s belly filled with food, but Haymitch knew that wouldn’t last. If he died in the Games, his brother would be left hungry once the year was up. He needed to win for his brother so that night he vowed to forget his feelings for Maysilee Donner. She would only be another tribute in the Games, but even when he tried his best to leave her behind, she was not so easily forgotten.

Haymitch can remember the arena better than anything. The bright colors, the perfumed air, and the mutts. The mutts. Despite the dangers the Gamemakers presented, Haymitch proved himself to be a force in the Games, but he wasn’t better than a pack of Careers. Wounded and unarmed, Haymitch was not ready to die, but accepted his fate gracefully -- refusing to close his eyes as the final Career readied to slit his throat. When his fate didn’t arrive and the Career’s knife fell to the ground at the sound of a cannon Haymitch found himself looking into the blue eyes of Maysilee Donner. Her cheeks looked more angular from the lack of edible food and her blond hair was even messier than he remembered, but he was so relieved to see her face.  
“We’d do better as allies,” she told him and since she just saved him, it’s in Haymitch’s best interest to agree. With no real plan other than to survive the day, Haymitch and Maysilee walked deeper into the arena together -- eyes watching each other’s backs.  
Haymitch led the way to the edge of the arena, not knowing what he’d find, but hoping it would be something of use. With each day that passed, the amount of tributes left in the arena slowly died off and a palpable tension began to rise between him and Maysilee. When the time finally arrived, wondered if he would have the nerve to end her life? He pictured his brother and decided he would -- he could. He could do it right now. He glanced towards her and weighed his knife in his hands. Oh yeah, he could overpower her easily. At this point in the Games, Maysilee was so thin, so weak -- it would be like snapping a twig under his boot. He almost pounced, but the thought of the unknown held him back. What about the poison she had learned to weaponize? The poisoned darts for her blow gun sat on her back, but he wasn’t sure what laid hidden in her pockets. A knife? A sharpened stick? A rock? Anything could be hidden and she could quickly earn the upper-hand if she just stabbed him with something rigged with the poison she found.  
Maysilee glanced toward him as he weighed his options, almost as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud, but instead of attacking, she smiled briefly and pointed. The edge of the arena sat right in front of them and Haymitch was disappointed, but unsuprised that he saw nothing to help him win. It’s just a cliff, but maybe that could be an advantage for him -- was it painless to fall to your death? When he stood at the edge, he looked down and then back at Maysilee, who refused to come any closer. Did she fear that he would pitch her off the edge or did she fear that she would push him off herself? Haymitch would never know, because in that moment when their eyes met once more he could only remember the party at the Slag Heap and the kisses in between then and now.  
“There’s nothing here,” she told him, “we should find somewhere else to go.”  
“No,” his voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “We should stay here.”  
“Haymitch, there’s no cover here. The other tributes could pick us off easily” she continued, but Haymitch refuses to go. Refused to follow her out of fear that he would kill her or that he would have to watch her die at the hands of another.  
“Fine,” she sighed. “It’s probably for the best. There’s only a few of us left now,” and with her last smile she left him alone.

Out of all of her pieces, Maysilee’s screams are the ones that he carried with him daily. Before he could learn how to finally forget her, Maysilee died bloodied, pale, but safe in his arms.

Haymitch Abernathy won the 50th Annual Hunger Games, but the Capitol punished him regardless. Their riches came with the price of his brother, mother, and his girl. So he learned to drink until the pain subsided and he learned to forget it all. Except every once in a while the pain flooded back whenever he tried to stitch the pieces of those moments back into the fuzzy edges of a picture. He would spend the rest of his life chasing her -- trying to save her -- only to awaken with his grief and guilt to hang onto.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had this idea more than five years ago. I never completed it. This is my attempt in trying to write again. I was inspired mainly by the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.


End file.
